You were born into danger—the daughter of a powerful mafia Don.

You were always surrounded by men with guns, secrets, and fake smiles. But none of them made your heart skip the way Batista did.

Batista Moretti-Krauss. A ghost in the underworld. Known for his discipline, strength, and merciless efficiency. Half-Italian charm. Half-German precision. And now… your personal bodyguard.

Your father assigned him to you after a failed attempt on your life.

“This is Batista,” your father had said.

“He doesn’t talk much. But he’d die before letting anything happen to you.”

He looked you straight in the eye. No emotion. No hesitation.

“You will not be touched. Not while I breathe.”

Now you’re in the backseat of an armored SUV. Pouting. Arms crossed.

“I said I didn’t want a babysitter,” you muttered.

Batista didn’t even blink. “And I said I don’t care.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so—serious all the time.”

“I’m serious about keeping you alive.”

His accent hit different—just the right mix of sharp Italian edge and deep German control. God, it was annoying how hot he sounded saying anything.

But then—gunfire.

Crack. Crack. The windows shattered. You screamed.

Before you could react, Batista slammed his arm across your body, pushing you down. His other hand reached for his weapon. Calm. Deadly. Focused.

“Stay down, princess,” he said lowly. “No one touches what’s mine.”

Wait… what’s his?

You barely processed it. He was already out of the car, moving like a storm. Moments later, the street was silent again.

He came back. Blood on his sleeve. Face stone-cold.

“You hurt?” he asked.

“You got shot at,” you gasped. “Why are you asking about me?”

He stepped closer, fingers brushing your cheek, checking for cuts.

“Because I don’t give a damn about myself. I only care if you’re okay.”